The End of Something Better
by ClassyClassic16
Summary: She grips the iron railing, hearing footsteps from boots in the blackness call out to her. Each step she takes is matched by the boots clicking, but she doesn't look back.


**I came up with this while listening to Electric Chapel, any feedback? So far, it's a oneshot. **

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Feet run across bloody, mossy ground, breath hanging and falling in the cold air. She clamors over the mounds of dirt, clinging to the wet white dress that's wrapping around her legs. The amount of cloth is been slowing her down, her face scraped from so many run-ins with brambles.

The tombstones around the yard are calling to her, but she keeps running through the graveyard. The darkness of the rain is pouncing on her skin, burning it as the drops slide off. The wind bites at her bare arms and back, but her feet carry her through the mud. Bodies lie half-buried fresh graves, hollow sockets looking straight at her, judging her, again.

The voices cry out through the darkness and she turns, makeup running down her face. She can make out murky shadows moving about in the bushes that are the forest. They're looking for her, seeking out her running blood like fresh meat. The safe haven of a weeping angel is 10 feet away, but the world is moving in slow-motion, and as she runs, gunshots ring out.

Holding an injured shoulder, she runs to the angel, hiding in the shadows, pressing her frigid body to the slick coolness of the black marble. Her breathing is shallow, the blood staining the purity of the dress. The voices are closer, searching for her and only her. She is the culprit, the victim of the circumstance as it seems. Grasping her shoulder, she inhales the harsh rain and chilling air.

A strike of lightning cracks through the sky, breaking up the darkness to illuminate the angel's face. She looks up to see the serene look on its flawless face. The darkness falls like a blanket, and while the voices call out, she hears them pass by her and into the night.

They're gone… finally gone. She exhales, breath hanging in the air, only to be blown away by the washing winds. Mud wraps around her ankles as she goes to move, but the bonds are broken. Blood blocks her arm from resettling, the bullet wedged in tightly. The droplets of rain are blurring together, creating one large streak of grey as the winds continue to howl.

Her filthy hand grasps the wrought iron gate, hanging on for dear life. The engagement ring shines with the feeble glow of lamp light from the church's interior. The gate squeals as she pries it open, stepping outside of the graveyard, freed of the iron shackles. The gravel digs into her bare feet as she crosses the parking lot, drawing blood with each step. The stone slabs that are the church steps look moistened and glisten as she approaches them, glad to be free of the white shoes.

She grips the iron railing, hearing footsteps from boots in the blackness call out to her. Each step she takes is matched by the boots clicking, but she doesn't look back. She doesn't want to be able to see the watery outline through this fog, blood-loss already clouding her vision.

The interior of the church is open, red carpeting leading to the alter. Candles line the sides of the simple cathedral, and she enters, looking at the gothic artwork on the walls. The statues of the sacred figures look towards her, pity and acceptance shining in their painted eyes. She stands in front of the Savior, touching the bloodied feet of him, leaving her own crimson residue atop the paint.

Slowly, she sits, looking up at the Savior looking down at her. Eyes meet, and she sees the recognition in the illustrated eyes; the glass orbs have a fire glistening behind the exterior gloss. The candles flicker as the large oak doors open once more, but she doesn't notice. Her mind is fixated on the Savior; this is the one who was said to rescue all from Earthly sin. She had been taught that in the past year of engagement.

Her bloodied hand outstretches, almost touching the feet of the Savior again, but another intercepts. This one is clean, spotless, wet from rain. Her gaze doesn't stray from that of the statue's, and although she doesn't see it's lips move, she hears words.

"Where have you been?"

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**Who do you think is the Bride?**

**Edit: Yeah, it's Maura. Thanks for the reviews :) **


End file.
